


The Bath

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, bad communicating, because things get real for a moment, but not as fluffy as i origionally intended, geralt makes the easy job of helping him worse, jaskier gets dirty and needs a bath, they are both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: “You might as well just join me now, huh?” Jaskier froze as the words left his mouth. He stared up at Geralt, embarrassment and devastation burning in his blue eyes.Geralt’s breath hitched in his chest.He gawked down at Jaskier, taking in the way his stomach fluttered with each breath, the sudden insecurity that rolled off him in waves.He narrowed his amber eyes. Fuck it, he thought.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 128





	The Bath

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

The innkeeper stared at them.

In his forty years of running the inn he had seen all sorts of people come through his doors. People of many different races from all across the continent had enjoyed his hospitality, and he prided himself for his good service and tightly run business.

The two men standing in front of him had rooted him in shock. It was not every day someone as famous as the White Wolf came into his lowly inn.

His eyes flicked between the white haired Witcher and his companion, who looked miserable and was filthy head to foot in stinking bog muck.

“Umm” he tried, mouth fluttering like a fish out of water.

“A room,” the Witcher growled, “Two beds.”

His companion cleared his throat.

“And run a bath,” he added.

“Yes, yes of course sir,” the innkeeper flustered, rummaging around behind the bar for a room key.

The Witcher placed a few coins on the bar and the innkeeper pocketed them as he handed over the key.

“That rooms got a tin tub. I’ll have it filled for you,” he motioned to one of the barmaids who approached cautiously.

“Hm,” the Witcher grumbled, turning away and marching towards the wooden stairs leading up to the guest rooms.

His companion trailed after him, leaving wet footprints in his wake.

Geralt of Rivia. Here. In his inn. And he was pretty sure that his companion was Jaskier, the Bard. Two of the most famous people in the land, and they were here. In his inn.  
The innkeeper bounced with glee. 

***

“-and how was I supposed to know the bog was there, I mean honestly Geralt, you could have at least warned me,” the Bard shrugged off his doublet which landed on the floor in a heap.

“Maybe next time you’ll pay attention to where you’re going instead of singing every godamn second,” Geralt busied himself with sorting out their packs, glancing at Jaskier occasionally from the corner of his eye.

Watching the Bard tumble headfirst into the bog and floundering about in its rancid, muddy water had almost made him laugh. Almost. The closest he had ever been to making such a noise. The Bard’s distress was what stopped him, and he had pulled him out by the scruff of his doublet.

“Well excuse me for running with my creative flow,” Jaskier untucked the hem of his undershirt from his breeches and tried to lift it over his head. The sodden material clung to his skin.

“I can’t help it if – fuck,” Jaskier whined, “Geralt?”

Geralt turned to look at him. The Bard’s undershirt was only halfway off, the tight material trapping his arms in an awkward position above his head.

“Geralt. I’m stuck,” Jaskier flexed his fingers in frustration.

Geralt grunted in amusement, rising from his position by their packs and roughly grabbed the wet material, yanking up as hard as he could.

The shirt peeled off Jaskier’s skin, leaving a red mark where it had rubbed, and he tossed it to the ground. 

Jaskier now stood in front of him half naked, chest heaving slightly, and a shiver of cold trembling through him. Blue eyes met amber for a moment and Geralt quickly turned away again, not wanting to read the expression that had twitched the Bard’s face.

Geralt tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach as he heard Jaskier shimmy out of his breeches and boots, painfully aware that the Bard was now fully naked.

“You better not be peeking,” he heard Jaskier call at him, “I would like to keep my dignity, but I probably left that back in the bog.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier hissed as he slid into the almost too hot water in the tin bath.

The Witcher rummaged around in Jaskier’s pack and found the bar of soap, dandelion and peppermint, the Bard had tucked in there, and threw it into the tub.

Jaskier jerked in surprise at the splash and Geralt grunted an apology.

He couldn’t understand why having Jaskier bathe in front of him would trouble him so. He had bathed in front of Jaskier many a time, with the Bard even helping him when he couldn’t reach difficult places. 

He wanted to put it down to the fact that even though Jaskier bathed regularly, Geralt had never actually been present, but he knew there was more to it than that. Watching Jaskier sud himself up, washing off the dirt and grime of the bog, there was an intimacy here, a trust that ran so deep, and Geralt’s slow heart skipped a beat.

He took a moment to just look at the Bard. The way his wet hair plastered to his forehead. The way his tongue poked out between his lips as he methodically cleaned himself. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the warm candlelight.

A warmth seeped through him. He couldn’t help but wonder how many other people had seen the Bard this… vulnerable, and beautiful. He’d wager not many. For all his bravado and flirting, Geralt knew that Jaskier was very careful about who he truly let his guard down to, and in that moment, Geralt realised that he was one of them.

He realised Jaskier had asked him something and he shook himself.

“Hm?” he grunted.

“The jug. Can you pass it here please?” Jaskier blinked those bright blue eyes at him.

Geralt stood slowly and tried to remain passive as he retrieved the jug from the dresser and plunged it into the bath water. He stepped around Jaskier with the intention of pouring the water over Jaskier’s head. 

Jaskier glanced at him a moment then seemed to settle again, ready to let Geralt help him. 

In his sudden need to be a part of this experience, he may have ditched the entire jug over Jaskier instead of letting it trickle down so Jaskier could scrub at his hair.

The Bard spluttered, wiping the water off his face.

“By the Gods Geralt! I’ve already almost drowned once today. I don’t need you trying to finish me off,” he grumbled.

Geralt gut clenched with guilt.

“Sorry,” he went back to the dresser, putting the jug down and deliberately not looking at Jaskier.

“What has gotten into you anyway?” the Bard’s question had Geralt clenching his jaw.

How could he explain that the one thing he wanted to do, right now, was run his hands through Jaskier’s hair, massaging the soap into his scalp, to hear the quickening of Jaskier’s pulse and the shallow rise and fall of his chest at the tender touches. That watching him had sent a rush of new and unfamiliar emotions right through him and that he just wanted, no, needed to be close to him as he tried to puzzle through it. That he was starting to realise what all the glances and small smiles the Bard gave him as they travelled together meant. That he was starting to understand why the Bard’s heart fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird when Geralt touched him, even just a brush of contact in passing, because now, in this moment, he felt the same way.

Instead of saying all this, instead of saying anything, he gave his usual, “Hm,” and tried to keep his face in a neutral expression.

“Well this is damned depressing,” Jaskier leaned back in the tub, his annoyed expression flicking into something more playful, “at least when I help you bathe, I try to keep you entertained.”

Geralt frowned at him, struck with a sudden thought. He turned back to the dresser and pulled over the little sack of bath salts. He took a pinch. No, he didn’t, he took a handful. A rather large handful. And went to flick the salt into the bath as Jaskier had done on many occasions. Forgetting his Witcher strength, the salt didn’t so much as land in the water but bounced off Jaskier’s face, going everywhere except in the bath.

“Shit!” Geralt rushed to his side as Jaskier’s hands flew to his face, “Jaskier, I’m sorry.”

“Ah fuck, my eyes,” Jaskier splashed water onto his face, trying to wipe the salt away.

Alarm flared up in Geralt’s chest as Jaskier blinked rapidly, the whites around his blue irises red and sore.

“I can’t see!” Jaskier rubbed his eyes frantically, “Geralt! I can’t see!”

“W-what?” 

“Fuck!” Jaskier wailed, clawing blindly at Geralt’s hand that was squeezing his shoulder.

Cold pitted Geralt’s stomach. 

“I’m sorry. Jaskier, I’m sorry,” he panicked.

His mind racing, he bent to scoop Jaskier out of the water.

“Woah! Hey wait a minute!” Jaskier flailed, water streaming off him.

“I’ll get you to a healer,” Geralt gruffed.

“Geralt! I was joking! You ass! Put me down! Geralt – “

Geralt lost his balance as Jaskier wriggled in his grip and they both fell forwards SPLOSH into the bath.

The Witcher scrambled up, drenched and spluttering. Jaskier exploded from under the water, coughing and trying to get a grip on the edge of the tub.

“Jaskier!” Geralt thundered as the Bard’s retching subsided and his breathing steadied out.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier rasped, a laugh catching in the back of his throat, “I wanted to get back at you for throwing salt at me. I didn’t mean –“

His voice broke as laugher shook him.

“Now you’re soaked through too! Ah Geralt, I’m sorry too!”

“Hm,” Geralt plucked at his shirt that was indeed dripping wet, as well as his hair, face, arms, breeches.

“You might as well just join me now, huh?” Jaskier froze as the words left his mouth. He stared up at Geralt, embarrassment and devastation burning in his blue eyes.

Geralt’s breath hitched in his chest. 

He gawked down at Jaskier, taking in the way his stomach fluttered with each breath, the sudden insecurity that rolled off him in waves.

He narrowed his amber eyes. Fuck it, he thought.

He quickly discarded is soaked clothes, Jaskier’s head snapping to the side, eyes closed when Geralt tore down his trousers. He climbed into the bath, legs tangling with the Bard’s and sunk slowly in, settling in the water that lapped at his bare chest.

Jaskier stared at him, mortified, not sure what to do.

“Pass the soap,” Geralt hummed, amusement sparking in his eyes.

Jaskier passed it to him, still in shock. Their fingers brushed and Jaskier snatched his hand back as if he had been burned. The soap slipped out of Geralt’s fingers and back into the water.

“Jaskier – “ Geralt tilted is head slightly.

“What – what the fuck Geralt?” Jaskier’s eyes were blown wide and Geralt could hear the thundering of his heart banging about in his ribcage. The Bard drew his knees to his chest, so he was no longer touching the Witcher.

Confusion bubbled through Geralt. He had done something wrong, but he didn’t understand what. He had thought that, even though it had been an off-hand comment, this was what Jaskier wanted. To be close to him.

“Jask, talk to me,” Geralt leaned forward and Jaskier pressed himself hard against the edge of the tub.

“You don’t get to just do that to me,” the Bard was quivering, “Do you know how long I’ve… how hard it’s been? Pretending that I’m okay with just being your friend? Hating myself because I wanted… more from you but knowing you would never give it to me? Knowing I wasn’t good enough for you? And then you go and do… this! What the fuck am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to do now Geralt?”

Geralt’s chest tightened. This confession, it tore at him, made him look back at every interaction he had ever had with the Bard and fuck! Of course Jaskier was in love with him. It was so damn obvious, but he had dismissed the Bard at every turn. He cared for Jaskier, deeply, more than he ever thought he could about another person, but being a Witcher, he had repressed his emotions, and besides, who could ever love a mutated monster like himself. 

But Jaskier did. He was the only person who looked at Geralt and didn’t see what everyone else saw. Didn’t fear him or rebuke him or push him away. He had followed Geralt around, trying his best to get close to him, and Geralt had not let himself be open to the idea that someone, anyone, especially not this young Bard, could want to be with him. But Jaskier did.

The shame and guilt crashed down on him as he looked at Jaskier, wary, hurting, confused, unsure. Geralt had done that to him. And not just now, in this room, in this inn, but every godamn day since they had met all those years ago. 

“Jaskier, I’m so sorry,” he grumbled. 

He reached for Jaskier’s hand under the water and took it, lacing their fingers together. At first, he thought the Bard would pull away from him but Jaskier let Geralt lift his hand to his lips and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“Geralt, I –“

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Geralt mumbled against his skin, “I swear to you, Jaskier, that I am going to spend every day for the rest of my life showing you how much I care about you, how much I need you, and trying to make up for all the hurt I’ve caused you these past years.”

Jaskier trembled as Geralt’s deep voice vibrated through him.

Geralt cupped Jaskier’s cheek gently, brushing away the tear that formed in the corner of his eye with the pad of his thumb. Jaskier leaned into the touch, his breath short and sharp in his chest.

The Witcher drew the Bard closer to him, wrapping his arms round his smaller frame, feeling Jaskier press his head into the crook of his neck. 

“I love you,” Jaskier whimpered into Geralt’s wet skin.

“And I’m an idiot for not seeing it sooner,” Geralt growled, “I think… I think I love you too.”

Jaskier leaned back to look at him, eyes soft and smile beautiful.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” he hummed.

He closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Geralt’s so tenderly that Geralt had to fight the rising whimper threatening to escape his throat.  
When Jaskier pulled back, Geralt followed him, threading his fingers into Jaskier’s wet hair and capturing his mouth again. The noise Jaskier made twisted Geralt’s gut.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed against his lips.

“Come on,” Geralt made the move to rise out of the bath.

Jaskier, as always, turned his eyes away as Geralt got out of the tin tub and wrapped a towel round his waist.

He gave Jaskier the same curtesy and they both dried and dressed in fresh, dry clothing in silence. 

Jaskier had paused to look at the two separate single beds and Geralt could practically taste what he was feeling.

He flumped himself down on one of the beds and invited Jaskier to join him, his arms outstretched. Jaskier immediately curled up next to Geralt, head on his chest, legs tangling.  
Geralt listened to Jaskier’s breathing, carding his fingers though his drying hair as the Bard drifted into sleep. 

The Witcher stayed awake for a long time before finally giving in to the dark, his thoughts filled with blue eyes and soft lips, gentle heartbeats and lingering touches, promises and hopes for the future.


End file.
